


danse macabre

by setosdarkness



Series: Danse Macabre [4]
Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime), Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Servamp (Anime & Manga), 終わりのセラフ | Owari no Seraph | Seraph of the End
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8495878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setosdarkness/pseuds/setosdarkness
Summary: Collection of my late Halloween fics (mostly Serial Killer AUs / Ghoul AU / Vampire AU):01 - Haikyuu!!: BokuAka - Bokuto thinks he's going crazy because everyone who does something bad to him dies.02 - Servamp: Greed Pair - Ghoul!Hyde & Investigator!Licht.03 - Owari no Seraph: MikaYuu - Yuu's friends warn him that he's living with a vampire.04 - KnB: KiKuro - Kise brings them to Kuroko, like offerings to a deity.05 - A/Z: InaSure - Inaho is responsible for the custody of Slaine Troyard, test subject of the country's top laboratory for mental patients.





	1. haikyuu!! - bokuto/akaashi - someone's killing off bokuto's enemies

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry in advance orz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--- BOKUAKA – i made a yandere!bokuto last time, so it’s akaashi’s chance to shine 8D

"it's happening again, akaashi."

he hugs his knees close, his hands shaky and sweaty as he clutches at the fabric of his loose pajamas. his face is smushed against his knees and he feels sweat dripping from his temples, despite the blast of airconditioning.

"is that why you're hiding under the dining table, bokuto-san?"

akaashi's voice is calm and even as always, unruffled no matter what happens. it's what makes him such a great guy and an even more amazing doctor. he always looks like nothing can ever surprise him.

"...yes."

"what happened?" akaashi's voice maintains the same inflection even though he hears him shuffle closer to the dining table, pads of his feet against the tatami deliberately loud to alert him of the approach.

"the reporter who wrote that mean article, he. he. he---"

he chokes on in his own saliva, in his own guilt. while it's true that he's felt sad - he didn't cry, because he's an adult now, a pro volleyball player, he doesn't cry at the drop of the hat, at each and every sign of crique - he's felt lonely and depressed, but only for a few hours because akaashi had brought him cherry ice cream then, and he's been sad, but he didn't. didn't want the reporter to actually.

die.

he didn't wish for the news while he's eating the pizza he ordered from the new italian place two blocks down - akaashi told him yesterday that he can indulge himself, so the number of calories and greasiness aside, he can eat pizza as long as he completes twenty more minutes of cardio. so, he didn't really feel anything great when he sees that news about some reporter found dead inside his own office, mouth stuffed with clippings of the pieces he's penned, mostly critiquing the influx of new players to the pro volleyball world.

while it's true that he remembers slurring some words and phrases against the mugs that kuroo kept supplying him two weeks ago - words and phrases that say something about making the reporter eat his words. he didn't mean it literally, he didn't mean it at all.

and the thing is.

it's not the first. or even the tenth time this has happened. people who have done something to send him to his depressed mode, they've all perished one way or the other.

and it's. it's terrifying, since he has times when he doesn't remember anything. when he wakes up covered in sweat like he's ran 42 kilometers. when he looks down at his own hands and finds them exhausted and tired and feeling like they're not a part of himself.

"...bokuto-san, take deep breaths." akaashi's voice is so lovely. he's never heard him raise his voice. he's never heard him say anything with an inflection that's not so matter-of-fact - wait, when they were in high school, akaashi had times when he sounded so fed up with his antics, but it was still affectionate, in a way, like akaashi's surely remembering and marking down all the times he's done something so wild it's illogical, but still supports him in the end. like akaashi's fond of him, like in his craziest dreams.

"akaashi, he---"

"can i sit beside you?" akaashi peers at him, bent at the waist as he lifts the veil of the table cloth so he can see him. "bokuto-san, can i sit beside you?"

"anything, akaashi, you can, but he, you know, the reporter---"

"you were great today." akaashi tells him when their thighs are touching, akaashi's legs slim and toned from all the walking he does up six flights of stairs to his office in his hospital, from all the running he does alongside him to keep him motivated and awake during his early morning runs. "that spike you did at the end of the third set was stronger than ushijima's."

akaashi is really wonderful - he's busy with his own patients who gladly wait on a queue of more than two weeks just to consult him. he's busy, but he finds time to get daily updates on his practices. he's busy, but he finds the patience to sit with him underneath dining tables as he wrestles with his own demons.

"really, akaashi? i did well, right??? hinata managed to block one of my shots with that one insane jump, but---"

"you were great." akaashi's hand is warm against his thigh, nudging his legs to a more relaxed pose, unwinding him bit by bit. "you're always great, bokuto-san."

akaashi's really great, isn't he?

"even if i'm not able to be within the top 3 spikers?"

"even so."

"...even if i can't finish my training?"

"...even so."

"akaashi---"

"even so, bokuto-san." akaashi's finally been able to coax him to lift his face from his knees. akaashi's hands on his cheeks are really, really warm, almost feverish, almost pinkish, almost sticky. but that's because he's been sweating up a storm, right. "let's go to bed?"

"okay," he agrees slowly, crawling out of the dining table with akaashi. "hey, akaashi, your hands are---"

"it's fine, bokuto-san."

"but---"

"let's go to bed, early, so you can rest."

akaashi's always so thoughtful. it's really nice.

"okay. let's go, akaashi."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

("Kuroo-san, I heard you had a fight with Bokuto-san."

"Ah, you know how it goes." Kuroo rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Kenma's been giving me the cold shoulder because of my stupidity, so you can cut out that glaring, Akaashi. I'll make up with that noisy owl, okay?"

"I'm afraid that's not enough, Kuroo-san."

"...Hey, wait, you---!"

"Everyone who gets in the way of Bokuto-san must be removed, after all.")


	2. servamp - hyde/licht - ghoul au!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--- GREED PAIR – because Hyde being a greedy ghoul & Licht exterminate-all-filthy-ghouls investigator hNNGGGH  
> \--- first two lines are from my other lawlicht fic, because parallels amongst universes and what-not 8D

“Die until you die, you shit-rat!”

Ah, it’s such an amazing thing – even like this, the hyper-sadist, ultra-violent, super-powerful, coolest-angel is still able to say such unreasonable words. It even crosses the threshold of logic, reality, or rather, this angel is really just so out of this world.

“Don’t be like that, Lichtan!” He implores with an exaggerated pout, mouth curving to a delighted chuckle when the young CCG investigator seriously attempts to kick his head off. “You’re being unreasonable again~~~♪”

Licht seethes with dissatisfaction when all he manages to catch are a few strands of blond hair. “I’ll show you unreasonable.”

“No, no, please don’t!” His chuckles transform to a full-blown belly laugh when the ultra-violent angel actually shrugs off his pristine white coat and takes out his _katana_ , poised for battle even in the marvelous setting they’re in, only needing seconds to shift from the stiff, businessman-look to a fluid pose of a warrior. “I’m rather fond of the décor here, you see!”

“I don’t care, shit-rat.” Lichtan really doesn’t, which makes for great comedy, really. “Die!”

When they first met—a rather shady meeting, if he’s honest, like, literally shady, because there were huge storm clouds and the crisscross roofs of the illegal immigrants provided a messy attempt of blocking the sparse afternoon sunlight—he wouldn’t have pegged Lichtan to be a recurring star of his life’s program.

But then again, that wasn’t exactly honest. He had sensed it then, the spark of interest that bloomed into a full-pledged New Year’s fireworks display, when Lichtan had snarled at him about hygiene, about his sketchiness, about the noisiness of his feeding, seemingly uncaring about the fact that he’s elbows-deep into his meals intestines, lips painted with the healthy pink of a strong tricep, face soaked with the struggle quelled to make way for victory.

Lichtan was a newbie investigator then.

And now, two years later and Lichtan is now a full-fledged investigator who happens to get exclusive invites to the temporary homes of the SS-rated ghoul, _Lawless_.

Too bad Lichtan doesn’t have a shred of appreciation whatsoever.

“Whoa—you’re strong, too strong!” He yells in mock-surrender, jumping about from one end of the room to another as he avoids the wide slashes that ruin the deep-crimson wallpapers and the illegal replicas of the Louvre’s displays instead. “ _Mou,_ Lichtan, with all this, I’d say that you actually hate me!”

“I wish you’d fucking die, trash!”

Ouch, too direct, too blunt, and he places a hand over his chest, clutching at his clothes and swooning when another strike attempts to skewer him by his mouth.

“But I make your life interesting~~~”

“Gonna kill you,” Lichtan promises him and it’s all these between them, seductive words that entice him to fall deeper and deeper into this game. “Because I’m—”

“—an angel~☆”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Yells the guy who gladly interrupts his monologues with a kick to the face. “You shitty rat!”

It’s almost _adorable_ , how Licht’s insults are sort of one-tune. He’d like to think of it as though Lichtan’s already reserved those words just for him, his chosen names.

“I know you loooooove me~~~”

It’s not even a split-second and it’s unfair, because ghouls are supposedly physically superior to humans in every way possible. But he doesn’t get a chance to even squeak for real, because the kick he receives to his stomach is too quick for his eyes to follow, too forceful for his _kagune_ to be able to take the full-brunt of it, too heavy for him to avoid skidding all the way to the furthest wall just before he actually flies outside the mansion.

It’s unfair in so many ways, because—

It should be illegal for someone to look that _adorable_!

Face flushed pink, Lichtan’s chest is heaving with exertion, ice-cold eyes now blazing with anger that’s not directed to him.

It’s been two years since their first meeting and he’s _caught_ , hook-line- _sinker_ , and he’s not the only one, because a waltz isn’t a waltz without a dance partner and Lichtan’s _blushing_ and _angry_ like his greatest secret has been revealed and _it has_ , to his eyes that can read this uncanny angel as easily as he recites sonnets and odes to a glorious midsummer night and fever-hot dreams.

At the risk of being a masochist—it doesn’t count, because being a ghoul is all about accepting and doling out pain, flesh torn out of their hearts as they become alienated from normality whether they like it or not, tearing flesh out of humans that don’t accept them on equal footing, so they deserve to be _schooled_ in ecological hierarchy, it doesn’t count, it doesn’t count—he likes that the secret unravels alongside the powerful kick that’s just so _Lichtan_.

His chest aches and creaks as he coughs out blood, the harsh impact dislocating his two of his ribs. Pain blooms like a vibrant rose, thorns digging to his sides with each slight movement that he makes, Lichtan’s footsteps approaching his very uncool figure setting off drumbeat thuds of his heartbeat.

“You’re…” He gasps out with a cocky grin, because this pain doesn’t matter in the light of the angel approaching him with a still-embarrassed blush. “…such a violent _tsundere_.”

“I’m not a tsundere,” comes the snappish reply, but in true tsundere mode, the words are harsh but the touch… well, it’s also harsh, as he presses firm hands against the injuries on his chest that heal sluggishly due to a lack of feeding in the past three days. “I’m—”

“—an angel, yes, yes.”

“Stop interrupting me,” Lichtan scolds him with a flick to his forehead.

“So very tsun-tsun, I see, I see…”

“Just…”

“Just…?”

He feels his eyes widen comically when Lichtan tugs at the collar of his simple black shirt, exposing a pale left shoulder that appears obscene in its paleness, like even the sun itself hasn’t even _seen_ such doll-like beauty.

He feels his mouth water and it’s not just because he’s known for his binge-eating ways and his everlasting greed that devours everything and anything.

“Lichtan, you—” He tries, when after two or so minutes, Lichtan doesn’t move from his spot, kneeling over him, with enough space for their limbs to not brush against each other, with not enough separation that he can’t feel the other’s body heat. He swallows and his mouth feels unbelievably dry despite the fact that he can feel himself drooling. He tries again: “ _Licht_ —”

“Just shut up and feed already, you shitty rat!”

“Do you even know what you’re saying?!” He’s this close to just shaking this stupidly pure angel by the shoulders. “Do you?!”

“So I’m not good enough for a glutton like you?!” Licht’s face twists to genuine anger and it’s so beautiful that he wants to devour it, eat Licht’s face starting from his icy eyes and no, no, no, he needs to save the best for the last, but if that’s the case then he won’t ever manage to start devouring Licht and isn’t that his problem for the past two years?

He’s promised himself again and again and again that he’ll kill Lichtan next time, that he’ll slice off a hand, that he’ll bite a toe, that he’ll capture the other’s sharp tongue, but he doesn’t end up doing anything but dangling low-level bait like locations of throwaway safehouses, baiting the other’s short temper to skirmishes that establish nothing but the fact that he’s so very hungry and _thirsty_ for something that Lichtan’s never going to be able to afford to give him.

“That’s not it, you denpa-angel!”

“I’m an angel and I’ll purify you with my flesh, idiot!”

“Don’t say things like that!”

It’s bad for his heart, especially since there’s something unspeakably pure about the other’s blush, even if anger is already painted over his handsome face.

“Then just eat me, damn it!”

“I said, don’t just. Just don’t say things like that!”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, stupid rat!”

“I’m not going to eat you!”

“Why the fuck not?!”

_Because I actually like you_ —is what the flapping of his lips say, but without a sound, because his throat has closed up, locked down his feelings that are on the verge of overflowing. Two years and—he’s been reduced from a scary SS-rated ghoul to what? A lovesick fool?

Lichtan’s eyes widen as well, the anger melting off.

“…just. Just take a bite, alright, you idiot.”

It’s the softest tone he’s ever heard Lichtan use.

“…Alright,” he whispers back as he caresses the other’s shoulder, fingertips burning as he traces a nonsensical map over the pale, unmarked skin. “…you really are a tsundere.”

There’s a bop to his head just before his teeth sinks in to the other’s flesh. “Just shut the fuck up and eat.”

And he tastes Lichtan’s _secret_ : the sourness of his begrudging realization that his life as an investigator is definitely made more interesting with the presence of _Lawless_ ; the bitterness of his annoyance at the world filled with creatures that have no imagination whatsoever in envisioning a reality of humans and ghouls cooperating with each other; the saltiness of his hard work and more hard work with training and studying and honing his entire self to be the best investigator in history; the sweetness of the ball of conflicting emotions regarding their relationship.

And it’s too much for him, for his greed.

So he unhooks his teeth from the other’s skin, leaving a pinkish mark and imprint of his teeth, but not daring to take the smallest chunk of flesh away.

It’s enough that he takes this lovely angel’s heart with him.

“…a damn sentimental idiot,” Lichtan mutters sullenly, fingers pressed against his ribs as a reminder that he’s being an idiot for not feeding when he hasn’t healed yet. “You’re gonna die, you shitty rat.”

“I’m not.” He’s still an SS-rated ghoul even with the rib injury and he can easily snag a meal or two once he actually gets on his feet and stops snuggling against Lichtan. “I have an angel with me.”

Lichtan’s skin grows warmer under his lips and it’s really amazing.

“Stupid rat.”

“My favorite _tsundere_ angel.”

“Shut up.”


	3. owari no seraph - mikayuu - yuu & his possibly-a-vampire-housemate mika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--- MIKAYUU – despite it all, I’m still a sucker for mikayuu (or is that yuumika) ^^;;;;;  
> \--- slight spoiler about vampires possessing a ring that can control effects of sunlight etc.

“…Say, Yuu-san.”

“Mm?” Proving that there’s still hope for evolution, Yuu actually manages to swallow his mouthful of piping hot okonomiyaki before he tilts his head to face her. “Wassit, Shinoa?”

Shinoa’s too occupied with twirling a lock of her hair nervously to even tease her friend about his newfound decorum. “You live with someone, right.”

The rest of their group of friends haven’t arrived yet for their usual lunch-time meet-up, the sun bearing down on the uneven street leading to the town’s best – and only – restaurant.

Excited to talk about his housemate, this time Yuu doesn’t bother to chew properly before he enthusiastically gushes: “I told you already! His name is Mika and he’s the greatest! He’s very pretty and he’s really nice even when he pretends to be tough and he’s really shy but he’s really, really, really nice!”

Shinoa frowns, delicately flicking off a stray bonito flake that landed on her arm.

“…And we’ve never seen him.”

“He’s really, really, really shy!” Yuu finishes off the rest of his plate before he continues. “Plus, his skin. Like, burns so easily! So he’s finding it hard to walk around town, you see.”

The earnestness in Yuu’s face is the main reason why an outsider like him has been accepted with open arms and hearts, despite the town’s rather small and inclusive population, with the knee-jerk reaction of rejecting any and all foreign entities. Yuu is honest, cheerful and just so likeable that even the grumpy Kimizuki is friends with him.

It’s all because they all care about Yuu that the rest of their friendship group has left the broaching of the topic to her. They just all want the best for Yuu.

“…so he’s not a vampire then?”

There are times when delicate lies hold the thread of an approach, while there are also times when there’s nothing better than the cold, hard truth.

Shinoa’s judged this to be the time when it calls for the truth.

Plus, Yuu may be an airheaded idiot, but he’s inconceivably good when it comes to sniffing out lies.

“…Mika?! Since when?!” Yuu’s bug-eyed in surprise, mouth hanging open. It’s unflattering and uncomfortably _cute_.

“I’m asking _you_ , Yuu-san!”

“Oh!” Yuu stretches his hands over his head, before rubbing his belly in contentment. “Nah, definitely not Mika. He _hates_ vampires.”

Vampires have supposedly been exterminated, the lands purified by powerful human exorcists that have successfully taken back the countries that have been occupied by the other species. But then again, there are rumors that there are still some vampires that have managed to escape the purge, urban legends filled with moral stories that warned children and adults alike from falling for the guiles and wiles of the beautiful creatures.

It was Yoichi who brought it up and Micchan who compiled a list of the traits of vampires. It was Kimizuki who snapped at them for stupidly considering that stupid-Yuu can even hide something such as the _vampirism_ of his housemate when practically 75% of things that come out of Yuu’s mouth are about Mika this, Mika that.

Shinoa lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding in.

“…I see. Yuu-san, you have bonito flakes stuck on your mouth.”

“Eh, why did you only tell me now?!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m home,” Yuu calls out to the one-bedroom bungalow, the warmth from outside sliding off his skin easily when he crosses the threshold to their _home_.

From the kitchen, a familiar figure cloaked in a white hood calls out: “Welcome back, Yuu-chan.”

Yuu quickly crosses the distance between them, arms wrapping around a slim waist and his chin resting on one bony shoulder.

“You’re losing weight.”

“I’ll eat a lot,” Mika promises as he leans back against his embrace, the hood shifting slightly. “I don’t want to worry you, Yuu-chan.”

“Mika, you don’t have to be sorry if you worry me!” Yuu tightens his hold around Mika’s waist, hating how easy it is to squeeze the other’s torso. “Also, you don’t need to wear this hood, okay? Why are you hiding from me? Micchan said that she saw you from afar yesterday evening and was worried you were a ghost!”

“I’ll avoid to go out then.”

“No, dummy, just ditch the hood!” Yuu tugs the white cloth down so he can nuzzle directly against Mika’s golden hair that smells of strawberries and blood. “You’re so pretty so it’s a shame to hide your looks!”

Mika stiffens slightly, but allows it when Yuu’s fingers skim around his right thigh – what’s left of it anyway. “I don’t want to cause trouble for you, Yuu-chan.”

“You won’t cause me any troubles, Mika.” Yuu rubs at the scars there, careful to control his strength so that he won’t reopen the wound. He’s made sure to lick the wounds every day and every night, dripping his blood and saliva in spite of Mika’s whines about how it _burns_ , in an effort to hasten the healing process. “I’m the one who troubles you each time.”

“No, Yuu-chan!” Mika wriggles in his hold, until he gives in and allows Mika to turn around so he can glare at him face-to-face. “I _offered_ to feed you, okay?! It’s not a trouble!”

“But you’re now full of scars.”

“Do you think I’m ugly because of all this?” Mika’s eyes are blazing. “Because I don’t care!”

“You’re always beautiful, who said that you’re ugly?!”

“Then I don’t care if I’m filled with scars, Yuu-chan.” Mika’s eyes have grown softer, bright blue in the sparse light filtering in to their homey kitchen. “I’m just glad I can help you.”

“…Okay.” Yuu embraces Mika again, mindful of the smell of the stew that Mika’s slaving over. He’s managed to train his tongue and stomach into not throwing up the normal human food, but there are lapses sometimes. It helps when he eats each and every meal with the thought that Mika’s worked hard for the things he eats, in all senses of the word. “I love you, Mika.”

Mika, beautiful and intelligent Mika, sighs and presses a kiss over his neck, against the spot where humans have pulses while he has none. “I love you too, Yuu-chan.”

Yuu keeps the two of them in that embrace, mind racing as to how he can prevent things like earlier today from happening again, things like people snooping around them, things like people suspecting that Mika’s a vampire when all he is an angelic childhood friend who sticks by Yuu even if the entire world has forsaken vampires when they used to rule everything for centuries prior, when Mika’s the loveliest human of them all while Yuu’s probably the last vampire left that’s managed to pitifully cling to its existence.

“…is the ring still working, Yuu-chan?” Mika asks him after a few minutes, lifting his head slightly so that he’s breathing directly over Yuu’s lips. “Let me know if you need to get another one, okay. Be sure to pack extra with you too.”

Soon, they’ll run out of rings that are able to stifle the effects of sunlight against vampires.

Soon, everyone will start thinking twice as to why they easily accept Yuu to their hearts.

Soon, it will be harder to hide like this.

“Mm, you’re such a worrywart.”

For now, though, it’s enough to be like this.


	4. kuroko no basket - kise/kuroko - kise's offering dead models to kuroko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- KIKURO, because puppy-like yandere!kise asdfghjkl

“Kurokocchiiii~♥”

There’s a deep sigh before Kuroko actually turns around and opens his eyes, mildly glaring at the bright, blond disruption to his sleep.

Routine-like in its frequency, the scene that greets Kuroko’s eyes should be very far from what can be considered as common and trivial. Then again, it is that same routine that has prepared his body from outright flinching.

He wrinkles his nose in displeasure, taking in the splatters of red on Kise’s million-yen face, some globs of crimson sticking stubbornly on the other’s side-swept bangs. He smells iron and he’s already envisioning himself forwarding the expensive dry-cleaning bill of his bedsheets to Kise. Or actually, better to just replace the whole sheet altogether, if Kise’s going to drip all over it anyway.

“…What is it, Kise-kun?”

“I brought you a present!” Kise’s smiles are even more blinding compared to his toothpaste commercial. “She’s the one who’s spreading rumors about being my girlfriend even though I just ate lunch with her that one time.”

“I told you to be more careful about your image,” Kuroko keeps the steel in his voice because the moment he betrays the fondness he feels, Kise _will_ jump towards him and ruin his entire bed.

Kise’s pouts are also more guilt-inducing in person, compared to that brief drama stint he had last month. “But you _hated_ her!”

“I don’t remember her.”

He does.

Marie Akemi, the haafu model who has passable singing skills, paired with Kise in that one mini-event about cherry blossom viewing. She occupied the same table with Kise once, in that exclusive restaurant in Ikebukuro that serves the best hotpot Kuroko has ever tasted.

Kuroko was there too, but nobody remembers the manager with very little presence.

“You don’t?” Kise asks and unlike others (Midorima with his derisive questioning when you’re not someone already close to him and sometimes even then; Akashi with his absolute confidence in the knowledge that he owns), it’s an actual question. “Hmm. Anyway, what’s done is done, so~”

“Get off my bed, Kise-kun.” Polite even as he rebukes, Kuroko very nearly rolls his eyes when Kise practically jumps away from him, the jerky motion splashing spilling some droplets of blood. “You’re cleaning that.”

“But Kurokocchiiiiiii—!”

“No buts, Kise-kun.” Cleaning this up is no trouble for Kise-kun, who can simply watch some videos and copy how it’s done. “But I assume you must want to show off your work first.”

“Yes, Kurokocchi!”

Kise’s smile glows brighter, his eyes nearly sparkling with glee. Unlike most of the serial killers that Kuroko has read about – and he has read a lot, in his effort to understand what’s going on – Kise doesn’t derive any pleasure from having the upper hand over his victims, doesn’t care about collecting internal organs as souvenirs.

Kise is Kise, and that’s all there is to it.

Eager to please Kuroko through all means possible, Kise performs his version of a cat bringing dead mice to its owner, carefully selecting the women who are particularly clingy and modestly popular, turning them into offerings to a higher deity.

“Lead the way,” he murmurs without a tinge of sleepiness despite the late hour, sighing deeply but allowing Kise to lead him towards his crime scene by his hand.

Kuroko’s not that interested in seeing artistic displays of corpses, but he supposes that like all things that represent Kise, he’s just helplessly enamored in spite of himself.

(the next day, kuroko issues a statement beside a snot-nosed kise sobbing about the death of one akemi-san, holding kise’s hand comfortingly, eyes wide with horror and grief, words filled with hopes and trust in the police that they’ll be able to find the culprit soon.)

 


	5. aldnoah/zero - inaho/slaine - inaho watches over slaine, always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--- INASURE - because that ending is pure fanfic fuel, really.

"I don't understand what's happening to me."

"It’s fine, everything's fine."

Kaizuka Inaho is a talented man: easily scoring the best in the nation when it comes to anything related to academics; quickly completing a double masters and PhD in nanotechnology when most of his peers are still struggling with introductory-level calculus; simply besting everyone when it comes to logical reasoning.

Comforting someone isn't a part of his talents, but the fact that he even tries, despite his multiple failures, speaks for something.

Whatever that something is, Slaine doesn't know, but it has to count, somehow.

"I’m serious, Orange."

"I never joke."

Kaizuka Inaho is always serious, almost comically so. It’s one of the things Slaine hates about him the most.

He doesn't even flinch when Slaine drives a knife towards his neck, stopping just short of actually stabbing his aorta open. Kaizuka Inaho even dares to move the slightest bit closer, eyes devoid of panic even as the sharp edge coaxes drops of blood to drip, drip, drip.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Let’s go home, Slaine."

"I don't understand this!"

He makes an aborted gesture to the mess around him, to the mess caused by him.

There are bodies around him and there's the heavy scent of iron that permeates the air so effectively that he feels like he's inhaling blood itself, inhaling their cries and pleas for help, inhaling all of their humanity and their lives.

"Let’s go home," Kaizuka Inaho repeats, impatience absent from his voice. There isn't even a tinge of sorrow, of annoyance, of anything that speaks of a plan unraveled and unfollowed.

Does this mean that even all of this is within Kaizuka Inaho's calculations?

Does this mean that there's an actual explanation for this crazed urge to lash out and just make everything around him bleed?

Does this mean that there's hope for someone like him?

"I don't understand—"

— _how you can continue to stay with someone like me._

"Just leave everything to me."

It’s been that way ever since they met, hasn't it?

Slaine Troyard struggles futilely against his own life, his own mental sickness, his own deranged actions, while Kaizuka Inaho continues his existence as the perfection that he is.

"You understand, right? They... they were going to hurt the princess. So I had to stop them before they could."

He remembers blonde hair, spun of gold and sun, remembers ocean-green eyes, drowned in emeralds and turquoises. He thinks about a kindness, a mercy, a princess.

People shrouded in white and fascinated with clipboards all tell him that she doesn't exist.

Kaizuka Inaho doesn't tell him anything like that - only tells him that everything's going to be okay, even when it's Kaizuka himself that world-renowned Dr. Troyard takes on as his apprentice instead of his own son that just somehow didn't manifest enough intelligence to be called a genius scientist.

"I understand you, Slaine."

And it's those simple words, routine they may seem, emotionless they might sound, that brings him to slump forward and bury himself in Kaizuka Inaho's waiting arms.

"Let’s go home, Orange."

"...let's."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Patient 044 doesn't show signs of improvement nor does he show any signs of delving deeper to his madness."

Kaizuka Inaho is a talented man: easily scoring the much-coveted spot of being Dr. Troyard's apprentice despite his relative inexperience with the practical applications of his many studies; quickly completing the tasks assigned to him in record-time, which then allows him ample time to wander around the building that serves as the research laboratory for their current endeavor - developing nanomachines able to cure mental sickness for patients afflicted with decaying brains; simply besting all of the psychologists, psychiatrists and neuroscientists in handling their most important patient - Dr. Troyard's son himself.

In just a few weeks, he's able to usurp the spot as Slaine Troyard's personal handler, the only one that the sick man willingly speaks to.

Kaizuka Inaho is a talented man, with only one weakness.

He hasn't fallen in love before - so falling for the unpredictable creature that is Slaine Troyard is something that shakes his world to the core.

Wrecks the foundations of his life, to the point that he even lies willingly to the entire world as he helps Slaine sneak out to bit-by-bit quench his bloodlust, to the point that he even breaks the law more than a handful of times as he assists in disposing of bodies and evidence.

"Thank you for your report, Kaizuka." Dr. Troyard's head is buried in his research as always, but there's a 0.22% chance that he's actually worried about his son. "Please continue to look after my son."

"...I will."

Kaizuka Inaho has lost Slaine Troyard once before, in that war between earth and mars centuries ago.

He’s not about to give him up again.


End file.
